


Upgrades

by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar)



Series: дезинформация [12]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Arc Reactor For Life, Back To Science, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Domestic Avengers, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Identity Issues, M/M, Not Iron Man 3 Compliant, Operation Free Will, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Science Bros, Tony Stark & Bucky's Arm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 17:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaqen_hgar/pseuds/Finely%20Honed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the sixth morning in a row, Bucky awoke to find his name waiting for him, curled around his tongue, trapped behind lips, and teeth. It left his chest feeling tight, his head packed full of disjointed memories meant to keep the name company. They lacked constancy, as did the name, and so he could not trust them, much as he could not trust anything anymore.</p><p>Takes place between “The Secret" and "Antoshka.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Upgrades

For the sixth morning in a row, Bucky awoke to find his name waiting for him, curled around his tongue, trapped behind lips, and teeth. It left his chest feeling tight, his head packed full of disjointed memories meant to keep the name company. They lacked constancy, as did the name, and so he could not trust them, much as he could not trust anything anymore.

Motionless in the bed, waiting for the reflexive urge to scream to pass, he found himself reassured by the undercurrent of awareness he could sense around him, which was granted tangibility through the low grade hum he associated with the disembodied voice of JARVIS. 

He had noticed the sound immediately upon entering the Tower, but said nothing, concerned that no one else could hear it. If that was the case, the sound, and the strange sense of _awareness_ connected to it, would drive him mad. Better to not know.

Although his exploration of the premises had been limited at best, he’d been unable to find an area without the hum. There were, however, some areas where it was louder, such as Stark’s workshop, which, appropriately enough, was where he learned that he was not imagining things in the first place.

Something about that space, or the man inhabiting it, loosened his tongue. Since Stark hadn’t reacted badly to Bucky’s confession about his arm, it had felt safe enough answering truthfully when twenty or so minutes later, Stark asked, “You okay over there? You’ve got this sort of panicked, squirrely look on your face.”

“The hum I hear in the building.” Having been down there for some time watching Stark work, the calming voice of JARVIS nicely balancing out Tony’s more enthusiastic contributions, Bucky had developed a theory. “Is that JARVIS?”

Strange, how a face, a body, could be so expressive. Stark straightened up on his stool, eyes widening, as the pleasure Bucky had somehow given him through his words worked its magic on the man, transforming him until he was practically radiating joy.

Trying to summon up a memory, any memory at all, of _experiencing_ what he saw on Stark’s face left Bucky’s head hurting, and his mouth dry. His muscles tensed involuntarily with phantom pain ( _“Then wipe him.”_ ) as he thought of the chair. There was a moment right as the procedure finished and the machinery released its hold, where the physical pain ceased ( _muscles slacken, his jaw relaxes, the rubber guard can be taken from his mouth_ ), and the people around him had yet to disturb the placidity of his mind. If the memory was in any way accurate, could that state qualify as happiness?

“Yes, it is, and _thank you_ for noticing,” Stark said, spinning his chair in a circle, pulling Bucky out of his own thoughts in the process. “I’ve been waiting for someone to mention it—well, bitch about it, anyway—although I bet Steve’s too polite. Our Capsicle seems the sort to keep complaints to himself, even if it’s driving his super serum ears batty.” His eyebrows crept closer to his hairline as he added, “Which, _oh,_ is it bothering you? It’s probably bothering you…”

Bucky gave a little shake of his head, surprised when the gesture managed to bring an abrupt end to Stark’s rambling. Gathering his words carefully, he said, “It’s nice.” He worried at his lip a moment, and felt his brow furrow. “Consistent,” he clarified, watching the joy flow back across Stark’s face.

Once reassured that what he had been hearing was real, Bucky found himself growing to appreciate the sound more with each day that passed. In some ways, it had become a lifeline, something he could count upon, whether he remembered his name or not.

“Good morning, JARVIS.”

“Good morning, sir. Are you ready to begin the day?”

Bucky licked his lips, and cleared his throat, eyes open but unfocused. “I am James Buchanan Barnes,” he said to the ceiling. After a moment’s consideration, he added. “Bucky.”

“Very good, sir. Captain Rogers has inquired as to whether you would like to join him for breakfast this morning.”

With speed and fluidity, Bucky excited the bed, and headed for the bathroom. Although he was naked, for a moment he felt the familiar weight of his weapons, and needed to pause before arriving at his destination. By the time he looked down at himself, the sensation had faded, but his heart carried on its fitful hammering, even as he forced himself to continue on with purpose.

He reminded himself that the eyes he saw reflected in the mirror did not belong to an asset, they belonged to a man. “Bucky,” he said again, watching his mouth form the word. “James,” he tried, but it felt the same. Empty.

“Sir, might I trouble you for an answer regarding the Captain’s offer?”

The face in the mirror was blank. “I accept.”

“Very well,” JARVIS intoned. “You will find him waiting for you in the communal kitchen.”

Bucky watched himself blink, and studied the steady rise and fall of his chest as he brushed his teeth. Once this task was complete, he returned to the bedroom in order to dress. There were too many choices, and it made him uncomfortable, seeing it all there waiting for him when he pulled open the drawers.

Steve was also waiting, though, and so Bucky forced himself to grab items quickly, pulling them on without looking at them, an unsettled feeling in his stomach. Everything they’d given him seemed too soft, flimsy, left him vulnerable.

He took a deep breath before opening the door of his suite, eyeing the pristine, empty kitchen before heading out. If Bucky had been given one, it was reasonable to assume all of the Avengers had as well, and yet they seemed to eat exclusively on the communal floor, whenever they were actually home.

Sure enough, as soon as the elevator doors opened, Bucky could hear that Steve was not alone. He headed in anyway, even if he’d rather have returned to his rooms. Weakness was unacceptable, and preferences were meaningless.

“Hey,” Steve said, smiling as he caught sight of Bucky. The expression made him look younger ( _he should be smaller, shouldn’t he?_ ), and Bucky swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Bruce made waffles this morning, didn’t think you’d want to miss out.”

There was an empty seat beside Steve, and there was that disconnect in action again, because Bucky’s first thought was to wonder who they had saved a seat for, even as he realized it was for him.

He could feel them carefully not watching him as he cautiously rounded the table, and sat down, his movements as efficient and non threatening as possible. Almost immediately, there was a warm, reassuring hand resting against his arm; he fought the instinct to tense, to shake off the contact, remained still, chin tucked low so his hair would fall forward.

The conversation hadn’t ceased, but the rhythm had been altered by his arrival. Thor was absent, but Clint and Natasha were there, exchanging sections of a newspaper. Bruce placed a plate of waffles in front of Bucky before returning to his seat on Bucky’s left. Seated ( _if you could call it that_ ) on Steve’s right, Tony was slumped onto the table, a hand curled around a steaming cup of coffee, his eyes closed.

Steve began slicing his waffles into neat little squares, butter and syrup piled on top. Bucky waited until Steve placed the first bite into his mouth before he picked up his own knife and fork, and followed suit, foregoing any additions. 

Most of what he had eaten since arriving at the Tower had felt alien to him. Too flavorful, the textures and ingredients unfamiliar. Because of his lack of enthusiasm, he suspected Steve was convinced he’d starve if not supervised while eating.

“Hey, Barnes,” Tony said, his eyes still closed, the words muffled because of his face being smashed into the table. “Steve’s made me lose the will to live over here. Care to help me out by settling an argument?”

“Tony,” Steve warned.

“No, _Steve_ ,” he replied, sitting upright. Bucky could now see that the other coffee, the one he’d incorrectly assumed was Clint’s, was also Tony’s. “I kind of think this is a free will, basic right to choice situation, so I’m going to do what we should have done days ago, and askhim what _he_ wants to do.”

It was clear that Bucky wasn’t the only one uncomfortable with the rising tension in the room. Steve’s knuckles were white where they gripped his fork, while Tony’s entire expression seemed to say, “give me an excuse to make a scene.”

“He’s right, actually,” and it was strange how such a soft, respectful voice could command so much attention. Suddenly, all eyes were on Bruce, and he chewed his mouthful of food almost sheepishly before turning to face Bucky. “Tony and I have been discussing your arm.”

“Specifically, that shitty power source,” Tony clarified. Bucky refocused his attention on the engineer. “I need to replace it. Not want to, _need to_ , Steve, although, I gotta say, I really appreciated the accusation about my motivations.”

“You’re twisting my words again,” Steve said, exasperated.

“Am I?” Tony asked, face scrunched up as he took a sip from each of his mugs in turn. 

“I didn’t accuse you of anything, Tony,” Steve insisted, as Tony continued talking right over him, turning to the others. “Nat, Clint, care to chime in?”

“I’m just enjoying the show,” Natasha answered with a sweet smile.

“Can’t really blame Cap for being creeped out, Stark. You _do_ get a science boner whenever you’re talking about Barnes’s arm.” 

Tony sputtered, his cheeks suspiciously pink, so before he could launch into another rant, Bucky opted for getting his information from someone less emotionally involved. “JARVIS,” and suddenly all eyes were on him, “a little help here?”

“The primary power source for you bionic arm is currently at 36% capacity and falling. Based on current data points, and barring increased usage of certain functions, a full loss of power is expected within the next fifteen days.”

Bucky tensed as if he had been struck, the smell and lingering taste of the food suddenly making him feel sick to his stomach. “Can you fix it?”

Tony leaned forward until he was practically on top of Steve, and with a sigh of irritation, Steve shifted back in his seat, attempting to regain some of his personal space.

“HYDRA specifically inserted points of failure, along with a battery life I wouldn’t accept from my phone,” he explained, sloshing some of his coffee when he went to gesture with the hand still holding a mug. 

“C’mon,” Steve groaned, eyeing his breakfast with desperation. He placed a finger against Stark’s forehead and pushed him out of the way, then hunched over his plate so he could eat, and Tony could still have a clear line of sight while talking to Bucky.

Tony sheepishly used a napkin to clean up the puddle of coffee he’d left beside Steve’s plate, then leaned on Steve’s back as he resumed his explanation.

“Standard operating procedure was to put you back on ice at regular intervals, due to the instability of the memory wipes, so for _them_ , it was a non issue. They could just recharge while you were in cold storage.”

Stark’s choice of words had left Steve muttering something about sensitivity training under his breath, but Bucky didn’t particularly care. It was the truth, after all. “So you need to recharge me?”

“I can do that in a pinch,” Tony explained, and some of the tension in Bucky’s chest lessened. “But I’d rather upgrade you to a sustainable power source. In order to do _that_ , I need data, which means I need you. Or, well, _we_ need you, cause Brucie here has to help with this one, due to the whole flesh and blood factor.”

When Bucky turned, Bruce was smiling gently at him. “It’s entirely non invasive by design,” he explained, “but it will mean spending hours, if not days, tethered to machinery while we take readings. Hopefully by the end we’ll know enough for Tony to be in a position to make his upgrades safely.”

“They’re right,” Steve said, shifting upright again in order to face Bucky. “This is _your_ choice. From what Tony was saying, it sounds like it doesn’t even have to be one or the other.”

“Our fearless leader is correct,” Tony agreed, standing up. He held up the mug in his right hand, and took a sip before saying, “Option one, I install a charging station in your suite. It’ll take about 39 hours, including time for fabrication, and installation.” 

He held up the left mug, sipped again. “The potential power source replacement approach can happen whenever, assuming Bruce and I are both still fully operational geniuses with nearly unlimited resources at our disposal whenever _whenever_ rolls around.” 

Tony grabbed the untouched cup of coffee that had been set out for Bucky, topped it off with the dregs from his other two mugs, and drained about half of it in one rapid swallow. “Me? I suck at waiting. Considering I’m one of maybe five people on the planet actually _good_ at multitasking, I say we do all of it at the same time.”

Bucky glanced at Bruce, then took note of the concern on Steve’s face, before ultimately settling on Tony, meeting his bright, eager eyes head on. “When do we start?”

\+ + +

“Are you seeing this?” Tony mumbled, worrying at his thumbnail with his teeth. “Please tell me I didn’t finally manage to overdose on caffeine, and this is all some beautiful hallucination. I’m actually stroking out, right?”

“I see it,” Bruce assured him softly. “I definitely see it.”

They were standing shoulder to shoulder, hunched over a display, heads practically touching. From across the room, Bucky watched them impassively.

“J, got enough to work with now?”

“Of course, sir.”

Bucky blinked as several 3D holographic representations of himself sprang out of nothingness. Bruce and Tony whirled around to peer at the blown up visualization of Bucky’s brain, momentarily ignoring the various full body, and arm specific views.

“This is something else,” Bruce murmured, adjusting his glasses.

“Okay, basics first, yeah?” Tony pulled and tugged at the blue wireframe version of the bionic arm before asking, “Barnes, how do you open the vents?”

Bucky shifted his focus, and found Tony now staring at him expectantly. The question didn’t make sense, because he wasn’t sure how to explain something that just _was_. 

“How do you open your mouth?” Both men grinned at the response. 

“Okay, stupid question, right, let me try again. Are there specific physical actions you’re required to perform in order to open the vents, or do you just,” he rolled his hands in a circle, fingers fanning out gracefully, “ _open_ them.”

Bucky frowned, and shifted in his seat. He glanced at the holographic displays, ignoring the tendrils of wire, and the little electrodes connecting him to the computers nearby, and stretched out his arm. The movement caused various sections of his “brain” to light up, fascinating bursts of color and light. 

When Bucky opened the vents, Tony gasped with delight, and grabbed hold of Bruce. “ _Fuck me_.”

“Answer is still no,” Bruce replied absently. He was as enraptured by the display as Tony. “It’s as if… But that makes no sense.”

“No, no, you’re right,” Tony insisted, “in fact, hey, flex the muscles in your right arm for me?”

Bucky did as was asked. There was another reaction in the display, and although the same sections lit up, the color combinations were different, less vibrant.

“Son of a bitch,” Tony exclaimed. He tore his eyes away from the display, and walked over to join Bucky, standing close enough that Bucky could smell the lingering traces of his aftershave. 

“Hey, remember that _thing_ you told me?” he asked, keeping his voice low so they wouldn’t be overheard by Bruce. He glanced over his shoulder, then met Bucky’s eyes. “There’s a reason this arm feels more real to you,” he explained. “I have no idea how, but they’ve essentially hijacked both your efferent and afferent neural pathways in order to give the arm VIP preferential treatment.”

Bucky licked his lips, and watched as Tony walked back over to the holographic brain. “Okay, say you’re listening to the baseball game on a little transistor radio, and then someone drives by listening to the same game, only through the radio in their car, with the volume blasted.” He exploded the view of Bucky’s brain, staring at it in wonder. “You’re still hearing the game, but the car stereo is drowning out your little radio until it drives off.”

“That’s actually _not_ what,” Bruce began, but then shook his head, and shrugged his shoulders, deciding against finishing the sentence. “The arm is lightyears beyond anything we’ve seen in prosthetics; they’ve effectively made it more real to your body than your actual arm.”

Bucky looked down at his hands, frowning. “Could…” he bit down into his lower lip, and let his words wither on the vine.

“Hey, this is all part of Operation Free Will,” Tony reminded him, ducking his head a bit so he could see Bucky’s face around the curtain of hair in the way. “ _Could_ what? Ask away, seriously.”

“The fingertips,” Bucky said, staring down at them, before dragging the metal fingers across the too soft fabric of his pants. This time, there was hardly any display of color to be seen, and Tony made a little noise of understanding, while Bruce frowned, and shook his head.

“Guessing they didn’t see a point,” Tony murmured, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Well, theoretically, if we can figure out the hot wiring, we can improve the tactile feedback in your fingertips.”

“Theoretically,” Bruce emphasized, his face pensive.

They stood side by side quietly for a moment, Tony’s hands interlaced behind his head, the fabric of his t-shirt stretched thin across his chest. Through the material, a bright blue glow could be seen, along with the outline of something rigid, and out of place in the center of his chest.

Perhaps sensing Bucky watching him, Tony glanced over, a tight smile on his face. “Anyone bother to fill you in on my souvenir?”

This wasn’t the first time Bucky had noticed the object. “Steve told me it lets you power the Iron Man suit.”

Beside Tony, Bruce’s expression clouded over, his eyes lowering as Stark yanked his shirt up to reveal the glowing object Steve had told him was called an arc reactor. It was beautiful, and fascinating, and surrounded by scar tissue, the sort he saw every morning when standing in front of the mirror.

“Sure, focus on the fun part,” Tony muttered before letting his shirt fall back into place.

“It’s deeper than it looks, isn’t it?”

Stark wore a strange, hesitant expression on his face, his silence answer enough. Bucky wondered if anyone had asked before, and if it was wrong of him to have done so. He didn’t exactly have a lot of people that had first hand experience with something along these lines, and so he was interested. Talking about the arm didn’t bother him, it was everything it had been used to accomplish that left him feeling hollowed out, much as Stark’s chest had been ( _had they left any of his sternum behind? did he have trouble breathing?_ ) to accommodate the arc reactor.

“I can remember the saw,” Bucky explained, gesturing to his arm, hoping Stark would get where he was coming from, “cutting away the excess.”

Bruce removed his glasses, and pinched the bridge of his nose, which caused Tony to turn and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We good?” he asked softly, and although his jaw was tight, Bruce nodded.

He wasn’t sure why his words had caused such a reaction, and wishing to soften them, Bucky shrugged, said, “My memories change sometimes, so maybe I’m wrong.”

“We’ve read Zola’s project files.” Bruce’s calm sounded forced. “That one is accurate.”

Smiling actually hurt, because his lips were chapped, and unaccustomed to the movement. His tongue darted out, tasted blood, but the smile did not slip. That the things done to him ( _by him_ ) were documented was something that had never occurred to Bucky. He’d assumed anything and everything related to the project would have been purged.

“Hey.” 

Tony approached him slowly, his eyes warm with concern. Bucky exhaled shakily, and watched the strange new light show unfolding across his brain, visible over Stark’s shoulder. It was distracting, especially seeing the ( _unexpected_ ) reaction that transpired in response to Tony touching him, one of his hands settling onto Bucky’s shoulder, fingers covering the red star.

“Do you need to stop? We can stop,” he offered.

Bucky shook his head, and it was then that he realized there were tears on his face. The smile slipped away, replaced with confusion as he brushed them aside. “How do I access the files?”

“Uh,” Tony looked over his shoulder, he and Bruce exchanging some sort of silent communication on the issue before he faced Bucky again. “Not sure that’s a great idea.”

Tilting his head defiantly, Bucky threw Stark’s words back in his face. “What happened to Operation Free Will?” Tony’s mouth opened only to close again, his brows furrowing as he grimaced. “I can’t trust _anything_ in my head right now. Being able to confirm or deny would be…” He took a ragged breath, pleaded with his eyes, before deciding actually saying it couldn’t hurt. “Please?”

“Shit,” Stark said, pulling his hand away in order to run it over his face.

“Steve,” Bruce began, but Tony talked over him, finishing the sentence with, “will probably kill me, yes, but James has a point, doesn’t he?”

The holographic display fluctuated, colorful bursts showing his changing emotional state in real time, and he wondered if the shift he saw was from Tony calling him James, or because it seemed like Stark was actually going to give him what he’d asked for. Was that what hope looked like?

Tony stared beseechingly at Bruce, who looked like he’d rather be just about anywhere else. “Any psychiatrist would have serious concerns about what you’re suggesting,” he answered carefully. “You could set back your progress, or…”

“Operation Free Will,” Tony countered, gesturing to Bucky. “He either has a right to make decisions for himself, or he doesn’t, right? Shouldn’t it be his choice?”

“Tony, without a doubt, this will have serious psychological ramifications.” Bruce shook his head again, hands twisting at his glasses until Bucky thought they’d snap. "Bucky, the files are by _no means_ comprehensive. Relying upon them..."

" _Anything_ is better than this!" Bucky interrupted, pounding the metal fist against his chest. In the center of the room, his holographic vitals were going wild, a beautiful visual representation of his agony. He swallowed around the lump in his throat, his voice dropping back into its customary monotone when he spoke again. "Six days. Six days in a row of being able to remember my name when I wake up, that’s my record."

"You won't find the answer to who you are in these files," Bruce insisted, "only what they were trying to turn you into."

Tony touched him again, and it should have felt oppressive, or weighty ( _Steve's hand, warm and wishing to be comforting, but he isn't touching his friend. He’s touching a hollow construct, forcing together pieces that don’t fit, trying to fill the shell with the life of someone named James Buchanan Barnes, but that isn’t him, not anymore._ ) but instead it felt like Tony’s hand was keeping him from flying apart at the seams. 

The lightshow shifted again as his heart rate began to slow, and it was clear from the change in Stark’s expression as he studied the display that he’d noticed the reaction taking place. He adjusted his position so he didn’t have to look over his shoulder when speaking with Bruce, but he stayed close, his hand never leaving Bucky’s shoulder.

"I understand losing your identity," Bruce's voice was the epitome of regret. "The guilt that comes with hurting people. Killing them."

"Hey, Brucie-bear, don’t go there." Tony said, "Look, guys, this doesn't have to be all or nothing, right? I’d like to propose a compromise, one which could help our friend James here, while simultaneously significantly decreasing the chances of Steve killing me. Well, killing me for _this_ , anyway, I’m sure he has a whole list in his little notebook of Reasons To Off Tony Stark."

Bruce took a deep breath as he placed his glasses back on his face, something like relief in his eyes. Bucky wondered what kept Bruce up late at night, was beginning to wonder if anyone in the Tower was really any better off than he was.

"What did you have in mind, Tony?"

"So, the lovely Dr. Banner is right, the files aren't complete, and more importantly, you can’t rely on HYDRA paperwork to figure out who you are. I get where you’re coming from, though, so, how ‘bout this? When you find yourself remembering something, and want a little reassurance, ask JARVIS and he’ll confirm or deny.”

Bucky was relieved; as much as he was desperate to get his hands on the files, to _know_ , he was also terrified to find out just how much blood was on his hands. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and shook his head in agreement. He could see the relief in Tony’s warm brown eyes, surprised to find the sympathy he saw there didn’t leave him feeling sick to his stomach.

“Let’s talk expectations. You’re going to remember things that aren’t in the files, but are very much real. Inability to verify based on current available data is _only_ that. Right?” Bucky nodded. “Right, good, because Bruce is allergic to logical fallacies, breaks out in hives, the whole deal. Really ugly stuff.”

Bruce nodded, his mouth quirked up in a smile, one that Tony returned wholeheartedly. “I _do_ hate logical fallacies.”

“So, expectations, covered! On to terms and conditions. In order to give you access by proxy, I need your consent to allow JARVIS to report back any adverse reactions. You’ve got a head full of landmines, and I have enough shit to keep me up at night—the last thing I need is to be inadvertently responsible for you blowing your metaphorical legs off.”

Bucky worried at his lower lip, weighing the pros and cons. “Who gets notified?”

“Good question. That’s up to you. We’re not always around at the same time, so your best bet is ranking by preference. If your first choice isn’t available at the time, JARVIS moves down the list. If no one is around, I guess we try remote contact? We’ll figure it out.”

That was a bit more reassuring. As much as Steve wanted to help him, Bucky was uncomfortable with the idea of falling apart in front of him, wasn’t sure how he felt about Steve having seen the files, even.

“Okay.”

Tony clapped his hands together, and grinned, and Bucky missed the physical contact, despite himself. “Since I’m a businessman at heart, I can’t stop there. Even if there is no measurable adverse reaction, I want you to talk to us about what you’re remembering, _especially_ if JARVIS is unable to confirm the memory for you.”

Bucky’s displeasure must have been evident on his face, because suddenly the hand was back on his shoulder.

“I know. Clint and I regularly compete for the title of Biggest Asshole in the Tower; Natasha is intimidating as hell; Bruce’s brilliance shines like the sun; Thor is… Thor; and Steve is such a genuinely good person that it actually makes your teeth hurt sometimes. The thing is, we’ve all got blood on our hands, been through hell in one way or another, and come out the other side still fighting. No one is going to judge you. There are people here, Clint especially, that you’re really going to want to talk to at some point, because believe it or not, we can help. So, that’s my last condition. If I give you access, you have to let us help you. Okay?”

Bucky stared down at his hands where they rested on his lap, palms up, flesh and metal side by side. It was tempting to rip the electrodes and wires from his body, storm out of the room, return to solitude. It was compelling, but deep in his gut he knew it was cowardice, and worse yet, it wasn’t going to get him any answers. 

If he’d wanted to, he could have continued evading Steve, remained hidden, but he _hadn’t_. He’d let himself be found, allowed Steve to bring him back to the Tower, and not so he’d have a place to live. Despite everything, he wanted to believe there was a light at the end of the tunnel, some way out of the nightmare he was trapped in. He might not be James Buchanan Barnes any longer, but he could be _somebody_.

Looking up, he found Tony was still watching him,so he answered; in a lot of ways it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. “Okay.”

“Okay,” Tony repeated, a smile lighting up his face. “I’ll fill everyone in, don’t worry about that, and in case you haven’t noticed yet, I don’t exactly keep normal hours, so no trying to use that as an excuse to keep to yourself. JARVIS can let you know where people are, and if they’re up or not, the whole shebang.”

Bucky nodded, surprised to feel the ever present weight in his chest lighten, just a bit. Just enough to make a difference. Tony must have seen it in his eyes, because he nodded, suddenly all seriousness, and said softly enough for only Bucky to hear, “It gets better, James.”

And that was that. Stark spun on his heels, snapping his fingers. “JARVIS, you know what to do.”

“Of course, sir.”

Suddenly, whatever tension remained in the room was forced out by the sound of loud, electric guitars. Bruce was smiling and shaking his head, and Bucky couldn’t help but do the same as he watched Tony dance his way across the room.

“Prick up your ears, James, this is The Clash,” he said, grinning as he watched the holographic representation of Bucky’s brain shift and change in response to the music. “Learn them, love them. Which reminds me, JARVIS?”

“Already ahead of you, sir. Sergeant Barnes has been given full access to your music library, and I have crafted several playlists for him to begin with, based upon your own listening habits.”

“Daddy loves you,” Tony said, smiling with pride. “Now, back to science!”

“You’re not allowed to have any more coffee,” Bruce said with a sigh, although he was smiling.

Bucky watched them, and let Tony’s words run through his mind over and over again. Maybe, just maybe, he was right. Maybe it _would_ get better. And so he let go, just a little, let everything else—the guilt, and pain, and panic, and confusion—retreat into the background, let the strange music wash over him, and began considering the order of Avengers for his contact list.

Tony Stark  
Steve Rogers  
Bruce Banner  
Natasha Romanov  
Clint Barton  
Thor Odinson

**Author's Note:**

> Ooops, I was supposed to post the hair cut installment (which has more Natasha!), and write some fun in the kitchen with the guys, but this happened instead. I suddenly had a LOT of Bucky feels, and had to purge the brain. A pervy part of me wants Tony to hook Bucky back up after they're a couple, and get sexy with him while watching the brain readouts, heh heh heh.
> 
> BTW, if I was to write an Avengers karaoke outing, what songs do you imagine people would sing? Looking for recommendations / headcanon. ;)


End file.
